


September 16th: Hero

by Oricalle



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Gen, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: Rushing to the defense of a civilian, Norne encounters an old friend.





	September 16th: Hero

Autumn downpours on the rain-slick streets of Port Warren reminded Norne of the growing season back home. The bustling townspeople retreated into their homes, and for a few blessed hours, the city was quiet. This was when Norne preferred to do her traveling about Port Warren. It wasn’t as if she was antisocial, she loved a good chat, but the sheer amount of new faces in the maritime city was a tad overwhelming. 

Then again, crowds hadn’t been so bad during the wars. Maybe because they’d all had something in common to talk about, even if it wasn’t cheerful.

As Norne trudged through the southern plaza, her boots kicking up splashes of water as she walked, a distant scream caught her attention. Her old military instincts kicked in, and she began to sprint towards the source, pulling a dagger from her belt as she mentally kicked herself for not bringing her bow today. She wasn’t used to running through city streets, and could feel herself skidding a tad as she ran, desperate to reach the source of the scream.

Outside of one of Warren’s many bars, she found her quarry. A young man, likely in his twenties, was lying on the ground, dragging himself against the cobblestone in an attempt to escape the assailant looming over him. Norne couldn’t make anything out about the attacker, due to the mud-colored overcoat he wore, but it was impossible to mistake the intent of his drawn sword, the blade gleaming slightly in the dim light. She felt her throat go a little dry at the sight.

“Drop the blade!” she called, holding the dagger in front of her. It wasn’t a threat, not yet, but she wanted to ensure that the man knew she meant business. The attacker pivoted to face her, and Norne could see the edges of an angular face with a slight beard beneath his hood. He regarded her for a few moments before grumbling back.

“Get outta here, short stuff. Run home before you get gut.”

A grimace found its way to Norne’s face. It wasn’t as if the insult bothered her, she was well aware of her diminutive appearance. She’d simply hoped this wouldn’t end in bloodshed, but it seemed there was no choice. She gripped the dagger tightly, feeling the hilt dig into the skin of her fingers, and stepped forward. Perhaps there was still a chance he would back down. 

The next few moments happened faster than she could have ever expected.

One of the bar’s side doors swung open, and a flash of scarlet emerged, headed directly for the confrontation. Metal clanged against metal as the attacker brought his weapon up just in time to deflect the swing of a sword. The new figure who had emerged wore a long crimson tunic, with lengthy jet-black hair falling down his back. He was turned to face Norne as the blades clashed, and recognition filled her.

Before she could call his name, the mysterious swordsman made his move. He darted back from the blade lock, gracefully dodging the downwards swipe from his opponent. With a roar, the assailant swung his weapon wildly in broad strokes, aiming to separate the swordsman’s head from his body. The swordsman barely needed to react, ducking and leaning out of the way of each fervent strike. After a particularly misaimed stroke from his attacker, the swordsman struck back. Almost seeming to slide between the droplets of rain, he surged forward, easily juking the attempt at a counter and sliding his blade cleanly through his opponents heart. Norne watched as the burly attacker seemed to crumple in on himself, dropping gracelessly to the pavement in a heap.

Slowly, the victim of the attempted killing stood, his knees nearly knocking together as he gawked at the person who had saved him.

“Thank you, I...I…”

“Get out of here.”

Seemingly needing no more encouragement, the young man turned and sprinted away, leaving nothing but kicked up pebbles and splashes of rainwater to mark his departure. The swordsman began to quietly sheathe his weapon, his victim’s blood dripping with the rain from the tip of the blade. Norne approached slowly, knowing she didn’t want to startle him. She’d seen the unfortunate end result of that before.

“Navarre?”

He looked up, but just barely. It was as if he considered Norne an idle curiosity instead of a comrade he’d fought alongside in two separate wars. They’d never been particularly close, but they’d at least saved each other’s lives more than once. That, Norne thought, had to count for something.

“What are you doing here?” Norne asked, taking a few steps closer.

Navarre didn’t speak, simply shrugging his shoulders, his eyes lazily following her and fixating on the knife nearly forgotten in her grasp.

“Nobody’s seen you in a year, Navarre! Queen Caeda has been worried about you, you know. She asked me to look for you in Macedon after we killed the Shadow Dragon, but nobody’d seen hide nor hair of you!”

“Tell Queen Caeda she is a fool.” Navarre spat back, finally turning to face Norne all the way. “I am not her lapdog.”

“You know that’s not what she means. She cares about you.”

“Unwise.”

Norne rolled her eyes. She suddenly remembered why she’d never managed to have a fulfilling conversation with the mercenary. “Oh, come off it, you brooding dastard. You know you’re a war hero now, right?”

Navarre chuckled, a dry and unnatural sound that felt foreign in his throat. “Hero? Is that a word they use for monsters like me now? My...”

In this light, Norne supposed that Navarre had a point. Here he was, in the pouring rain, holding a sword covered in blood, standing over a body. But she was not about to let him off that easily.

“You saved countless people in those wars, Navarre. I know for a fact that Queen Caeda didn’t pay you a thing, too. You can hide behind your little scowl and your grumbling all you want, but someday you’re gonna have to face the facts. You ain’t the demon you want to be.”

Not expecting a response, Norne turned and made to walk away, fully fed-up with the swordsman’s little pity-party. His next words were barely audible over the sound of raindrops on pavement.

“-ank you.”

“What was that?” Norne whirled around like she was expecting to see a ghost, but only got the back of Navarre’s coat.

“Tell Caeda I said “thank you”. And tell her not to look for me anymore. Goodbye, Norne.”

As he walked away, crimson cloak swishing in the puddles below, Norne couldn’t help but grin. She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of Navarre.

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is basically me grabbing Navarre's shoulders, shaking them, and yelling "STOP BEING SUCH A BROODING JERK FOR LIKE TEN SECONDS".


End file.
